


Worthy - Drabble Collection

by weepingredemption



Category: Cursed (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25711987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weepingredemption/pseuds/weepingredemption
Summary: This is a place to put all my Weeping Monk drabbles from my Tumblr (weepingredemption).
Relationships: Lancelot/Percival, Nimue/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), Squirrel | Percival & The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed), The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)/You
Comments: 8
Kudos: 65





	1. I Like It When You Say My Name

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: I like it when you say my name.
> 
> I gladly welcome requests!

The way his arms held you - tight and secure, but never possessive, his hands laid on your lower back and absentmindedly rubbing up and down - brought a bright smile to your face. You always felt safe in his arms. When you were tucked against his chest, held in his embrace, there was nothing you feared. He made you feel secured. Protected. A warmth always spread over your chest, making your heart feel like it was soaring. You never thought the Weeping Warrior could bring such a feeling, nor did you ever think he could be a man who enjoys these sort of moments. The moments of vulnerability, letting his heart and emotions unveil from the barrier he kept them under.

It was these moments you absolutely loved. You loved seeing this side of him, side he only let you see.

You let out a sigh of content when he brushed his lips over your forehead. In a loving murmur, you spoke his name. “Lancelot.”

“Say it again,” he hoarsely replied.

Your smile widened. Shifting so you could raise your head and look at up him, you looked into his beautiful icy blue eyes full of adoration. “Lancelot.”

His eyes closed, a smile gracing his lips. It wasn’t often he smiled. Not a true smile. When he did, though, it was beautiful. He never looked more peaceful. He pressed his forehead against yours, squeezing your waist ever so slightly. “I like it when you say my name,” he confessed in a whisper.


	2. I Want To Take Care Of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "I want to take care of you"
> 
> I gladly welcome requests!

“Don’t.”

You stopped in mid raising the wet cloth to his bloodied temple, not because you were told to, but because you were frustrated. Your beloved of nearly a year had come you, beaten and badly wounded, skin caked in mud and unable to hold himself up. The boy with him - Percival, you believed was his name - had relayed to you everything that happened in the passing days, and it took all of your will to not slap this fool of man you loved so much upside the head.

And here you were. Trying to tend to him. Trying.

“Lancelot, you have blood all over you.”

“It’s not that much.”

“You need stitches.”

That gave him pause. Only for a moment and then he was back to stopping you when you again tried to lift the cloth back to his face. “I said don’t--”

“Lancelot, I swear to God, if you don’t let me tend to you before it gets worse than it already is, you will see an ire greater and more deadly than the Weeping Monk.” Behind you, Percival’s head shot up from where he sat, munching on a some fruit and bread you had given him, eyes wide and his face twisted in worry. “Now shut up and let me help.”

The slightest hint of a smile tugged on the corners of his lips. “Only you would have such power.”

“I want to take care of you,” you told him softly. “Let me.”

With a shake of his head, Lancelot echoed the words he often said in a low murmur. “I do not deserve you.”

“You do, and more. If you let me tend to your wounds, then I will gladly spend the rest of my days proving you wrong.”

Lancelot didn’t say anything. He merely smiled and sat up straight, tilting his chin up so you had better access to his head. “As you will, my love. I daresay this will be the only time where I am gladly wrong.”


	3. What You Did Was Stupid And Dangerous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "What you did was stupid and dangerous and scared the hell out of me"

“What you did was stupid and dangerous!”

Lancelot was angry. He was never angry. A composed and patient man, it was rare for him to show his emotions. He kept them concealed, covered by a thick veil, a man of very few words. Today, however, he had plenty to say.

Percival sat silently on the fallen tree log, eyes cast down to the ground. He did not need to look up to know Lancelot was pacing. He could see his boots leading him in the hard, frantic steps. He turned his head to look at you and the only thing you offered was a small smile, exhaustion clear as a cloudless day on your face. He had worried you as well.

“What were you thinking?” Lancelot continued. “You could have been killed.”

“I wanted to avenge my fallen kin,” was Percival’s meek answer.

Lancelot stopped in his tracks. A flash of shame crossed his features. It was no secret the regrets he bore concerning that fateful day to the young boy’s village. It was a regret, along with many others, he would carry to his grave.

Lancelot sighed, turned, and crouched. “Running into the path of Red Paladins is not the way to do it, Percival.”

“There were only two!”

“And there were three more close behind,” Lancelot said grimly. The boy’s frown deepened. He didn’t know this. “You scared the hell out of me. Out of Y/N. When I took you in, it was not out of pity.”

Percival slowly lifted his head and looked up at him.

“It was out of love, Percival,” he continued. “Whether by blood or legal matters, you are my son. I do not want to fathom a single day without you.”

Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. He scampered off the log and threw himself in Lancelot’s arms, who caught him with ease and tightly wrapped his arms around his small body as he cried in his shoulder. “I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright, my boy.” Lifting his gaze to you, he raised his arm as a silent invitation for to come in his embrace, and you gladly accepted the offer. “All is well,” he whispered.


	4. Chapter 4

“I’m hungry.”

Lancelot pulled Goliath to an abrupt stop and turned around in his saddle, staring at the boy with incredulous eyes. “You cannot be serious.”

“I am!”

“We just finished lunch.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

“You has two bowls of stew, and what was left of mine,” Lancelot countered. “Two and a half, Percival.”

Percival grumbled, rubbing his achy belly. “And I’m still hungry.”

Lancelot looked to Nimue for help, but she was no better off with the way she was trying to stifle her laughter. Bless the Hidden for bringing her in his life but right now was not the time for amusement. Their journey was still three days ahead and their food supply was running low.

“Fine.” Lancelot sighed and dug into his saddle bag. He pulled out a bright red apple and tossed it to the boy. It bounced off his head and right into his lap.

“Ow! You did that on purpose.”

He smirked as he turned back around in his saddle and urged Goliath forward. “Yes, I did.”

“That would be considered as child abuse,” Percival said, his mouth already filled with a bite from the apple.

“No. It is called discipline. From my upbringing, it would be thrice times worse. Now be quiet and eat your stupid apple.”


	5. Chapter 5

There is so much work, Nimue thought with a frown.

The pile of papers in front of her were daunting. The mere glance exhausted her. Some simply required her signature, others were more complex and required a careful overview. The duties of a queen were many and her job was never done, even as the sun went down. Lingering papers from yesterday were a testament to that. Nimue stole a glance at the window and sighed. The day was still young, the approach of afternoon still so far away.

She wondered if—

“Nyyyyah!”

What on earth?

Nimue rose and went to investigate the strange noise. A break was greatly needed, anyway, and she would come back to her work soon enough. Or at least that is what she told herself. She slipped out of the study and walked down the short hall that lead her into the den, and she was hardly surprised - if anything, amused — by what she saw or to learn where the noise came from.

Squirrel stood off to the side, practicing with his sword. Judging by the way he thrust and attempted to twirl the blade, he was trying to hone the new skills Lancelot taught him. The Weeping Monk himself sat quietly in a chair, watching the child with strong amusement, his chin resting on his palm.

Nimue could not help it. She laughed. “Squirrel! What are you doing?”

“Practicing!” The boy answered without even the slightest glance in her direction. “Lancelot said if I can twirl my sword twice without dropping it, he will teach me how to throw a spear for the annual Weaponry Championship.”

Nimue looked at Lancelot. He turned his head to look at her, shook his head and mouthed ‘Not really’.

She bit her lip to stifle her laughter this tike, more for Squirrel’s sake. As the boy continued his practicing, Nimue crossed the room and slipped behind her husband, and rested her hands on his shoulders. “How long do you think it will take him before he realizes the Weaponry Championship doesn’t exist?”

“I give him a week.” Lancelot lifted his head, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “It keeps him busy.”


End file.
